


Stinking Drunk With Power

by Kristi Boyle (hotrock23)



Category: James Hetfield - Fandom, Metallica
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Graphic Description, Hate Sex, One-Shot, POV Second Person, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotrock23/pseuds/Kristi%20Boyle
Summary: Your friend James has known for a while that you want him. He says he feels the same, but you're starting to think you're being lead on. If you're going to get what you want, you're going to have to get mean.





	Stinking Drunk With Power

**Author's Note:**

> Written late August/early September 2019.

The buzz of the amplifiers gives way to the buzz of nature as another house show ends. The intimate setting should make your life easier, but the lower attendance means the few people who did show up are friends and sycophants who take up more of the band’s time than the usual nightclub barflies. Here you are, picking at the label of your beer bottle as you wait for the punishers to stop asking James about his gear. You hate coming off like a desperate fangirl. You’re always so worried that if people see how often you talk to James, they’ll never let you live down your crush on him. You only talk to him when he’s alone. Kirk pats you on the shoulder and shakes you out of your reverie. “Hey, thanks for coming!” he says as he walks by, carrying his guitar case to the car. He calls you the wrong name. Cliff follows behind and burps in your face. A charming distillation of your evening.

You find your opening once Lars lures the last punisher out onto the front lawn. One last swig, then you put your bottle down and walk up to James. “Hey, good show,” you say, trying to project more confidence than you feel.

He looks up from his mess of guitar cables and smiles. “Hey, how’s it going?” He stands up and tussles your hair. You wish he wouldn’t treat you like a child, but at least he gets your name right. At least he’s happy to see you.

“Ah, it’s whatever, work, y’know?” Your sheepish grin thins. He resumes his cable winding, musing about the band’s set and what everyone (Lars) could have done better. 

You can’t bear the humiliation of explicitly verbalizing your desires, so you compensate by being as subtle as an airhorn. A few shows ago you asked him if he wanted to “hang out” while your roommate was gone (and even gently slid your hand over his in case he didn’t get the hint), and while his response to your invitation was enthusiastic, his response to the scheduling has been… less so. Every agreed upon time finds you sitting by the front door, only for him to pull out some half-hearted excuse over the phone and laugh off your disappointment. Even platonic suggestions like the record store near your house leave you high and dry. He denies your accusation that he’s letting you down gently, but… 

“What do you think?”

“No yeah that makes sense. So I don’t know if you’ve put any more thought into what I asked you a few weeks back… about hanging out or whatever…”

He winds his cables like he didn't hear you. “Totally! I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“That’s cool. I just…Y’know, you’ve said that a few times now and then you never show up.”

“Oh yeah.” He puts his guitar in its case.  
Silence.

You have to wake up early tomorrow and the beer isn’t agreeing with your empty stomach. Fuck this.

“You could have just told me you weren’t interested and saved me some grief. I can take the rejection.”

“I’m not rejecting you, I just have shit going on.”

“Okay, well, you’ve had shit going on for a long time, when I leave it up to you I never hear from you. I don’t want to keep waiting for you if you don’t even want me.”

“Ah, it’s not that big of a deal.”

A dash of bile hits the top of your throat. You shouldn’t have to put up with being treated this way and quite frankly, you don’t want it.

“You’re just a fucking coward. You probably couldn’t fuck me even if you wanted to. I shouldn’t even be wasting my time trying to fuck someone who’d pass up an opportunity served on a silver fucking platter. 

“Okay, we get it. I’m such a fuckup, you can do better. Give it a rest.”

Everything else flies out of your mouth too quickly to catch. Fuck it, if he doesn’t care about treating you like a human being, why should you play nice?

“Fine. I won’t bother anymore. You’re probably not even a good fuck. Maybe I’ll get Kirk to fuck me! He’s so pretty and sensitive, no wonder all the girls love him!”

“Yeah, whatever, go ahead, I don’t care.”

“Or maybe I should try to fuck Cliff instead. I heard he’s got a biiiig dick, probably bigger than yours!”

You’re burrowing under his skin now. He’s not smiling and he’s too exhausted to brush you off. He steps a little too close to you and points a finger in your face. 

“Cut it out.”

“Shit, I could probably convince Lars to fuck me before you’ll do it! You’d probably be into that, wouldn’t you? I bet you love thinking of me taking his big Danish di-”

Before you can react, his hand closes hard around your wrist. He pulls you into the house from the garage, storms through the hallways with you in tow, muttering obscenities under his breath. Your heart pounds against your ribs with more ferocity than in ages. Every few yards you stumble, the natural result of being so much shorter than him, and he yanks you back to his pace. Finally James opens a door at the back corner of the house and he slams it shut as soon as you’re in. He pulls you to the bed and throws your arm from his grip.

“You wanna talk big about how you’re too good of a fuck for me? Get on the bed and take off your clothes. I’ll fucking show you who in this band is gonna fuck you right.”

He turns around and takes off his shirt, the sweat-damp fabric still clinging to his torso. The furious intensity with which he undoes his belt seems to shoot lightning from him. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the bed, shimmying backward to the center. As you pull your shirt over your eyes, your first sight is James now inches from your face. He tackles you into the mattress and crashes his mouth onto yours. The beer on his breath and the hands tugging on your bra overwhelm you. You reach behind your back to unhook it and before the straps are off your shoulders, his hands are under the cups and squeezing your breasts. His calloused fingers tug at your right nipple, coaxing it to arousal as his right hand darts beneath your panties. His first finger slides inside of you. To your horror, you’re soaking wet. You breathe hard and desperate through your nose as his tongue invades your mouth and that first finger invades your sex. As his middle finger joins its predecessor to pump inside, you break the kiss to catch your breath. James pulls out his fingers and undoes your pants, pulling them down with your panties just far enough that your legs can spread. He positions himself between your legs, aims his dick against you, and slides in hard. You want to keep your noise level down but as his thrusts into you pick up speed, the moans spill out of you.

“Oh, you like that? You like that?”

“Y-yes…yes…”

He stops with his dick shoved against your cervix, one hand on your hip to push himself as deep into your trembling pussy as possible, the other grabbing your jaw and tilting it up so you have no choice but to look into his eyes. He’s the master and you’re just an animal.

“Don’t you *ever* forget who’s fucking you this good.”

Your hips and neck bruise under his fingers. Your throat dries as he slams an unending string of moans out of you, more of his hot beer breath against your neck and ear. Your poor body shudders in the sensory overload and your surrender only moves him to fuck harder. His tempo breaks and you wrap your arms around him just in time to feel him crumble. Catching his breath as he collapses onto your chest, he almost looks gentle. He’s not even winded, he’s… content? The thought seems to reach him just as you think it because this is his cue to pull out, stand up, and readjust his pants. You can’t bring yourself to move. All you feel is his semen trickling out of you onto the sheets, the mugginess of the room, and the residual hum of his body on yours.

“We should probably head back before people start talking shit.”

“Yeah, give me a minute.”

You pull up your pants and get up off the bed, your legs wobbling like a newborn deer. You shuffle over to your bra and shirt and as you put them back on, you notice James standing in place, back turned to you.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?

This is new.

“You’re rougher than I like, but I’m fine.” You look for your shoes.

“Okay well uh….,” He scratches his head through his long, sandy hair. ”I’m… I’m sorry if I hurt you or anything.”

Is this the same man who was throttling your insides five minutes ago? Has he ever apologized for anything? You better savor this. 

“I’m fine. Thanks. Let’s go.”

He opens the door and walks out, and you follow far enough behind to not look suspicious. If nobody heard you, nobody has to know.


End file.
